


flesh and feeling rendered in stone

by bellafarallones



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Love Confessions, Other, Sculpture, oc protagonist is named nirva and they're afab nb and intended to be autistic, you convince him not to work with the devil, you're a sculptor and valerius commissions you and you fall in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25347535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellafarallones/pseuds/bellafarallones
Summary: Now Valerius had reached your favorite part of his undressing, now he undid the ribbon at the end of his braid and carded his fingers through his hair until it fell loose and wavy around his naked shoulders.He had told you up front that he expected to work closely with his sculptor, but probably not to this degree.
Relationships: Valerius (The Arcana)/You, Valerius/OC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	flesh and feeling rendered in stone

Sunlight streamed through the temple skylight, and your handiwork was glowing: human figures carved in white marble, the delicate veins bulging through their skin so lifelike, the folds of their cloaks so fluid, so thin in places the stone was translucent. 

This was an art show in the temple district, where artists mingled with potential buyers, the religious and political elites of Vesuvia, and you stood with the awkwardness of knowing that you were by far the least impressive part of your portfolio.

“Masterful work,” said a blue-blooded voice at your shoulder. You turned. A man in a gold-trimmed tunic was sipping a glass of wine and looking over your exhibition appraisingly. He was about your age; that is, a little young to be an art connoisseur. 

“Thank you,” you said. He was a work of art himself: loose braid framing his face, high cheekbones, smooth skin with undertones cooler than marble. “Consul Valerius,” he introduced himself.

“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Nirva.”

“Pleasure.” He seemed to be particularly interested in a sculpture of a young woman and a wolf. “You really capture the wildness of an animal,” he said.

“I make my sketches from life.”

“Of course.” Now he was looking appraisingly at  _ you.  _ “Do you take commissions?”

“Yes. My usual rate is -”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure I’ll be paying far more than your usual rate. I’m looking to work very closely with a sculptor to perfect my vision.”

Oh, boy. Your first guess was that he wanted an idealized nude of himself or his lover, and that he would be paying you extra for your discretion. Whatever. You could use the anatomy practice. And he seemed less strapped for cash than churches usually were. “What are you interested in?”

“Animals in combat. Are you available this evening? I could send a carriage to bring you to my estate to discuss the specifics over dinner.”

“Yes. I can bring my sketchbook if you’d like to start work right away.” You scribbled the address of your studio on the back of a business card and handed it to him. 

“That would be appreciated.” Valerius extended his wine-free hand, and you shook it. “Do you like veal?”

“Of course,” you said, although in truth you didn’t know. Your freelance-artist budget didn’t allow for such things.

“Good. I’ll see you tonight.”

Then he drifted off again into the swirling crowd. Your shoulders sagged with relief. If Valerius was as serious as he sounded, his animal sculpture might occupy you for a month or more, and pay your rent for longer still. 

\--

Valerius’ dining room was dimly lit, the walls covered in frescoes of nymphs and satyrs frolicking through verdant vineyards. The table was big enough to seat at least twenty, but only two places were set, across from each other near the end of the table. Valerius rose to greet you when you came in. “Thank you for coming,” he said. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” You had to tear your eyes away from the two satyrs doing something obscene just above his head.

“That art fair was rather crowded,” he said, and pulled out your chair so you could sit down.

“And loud. Promoting myself is always the least favorite part of my job.” 

“Well, I’m glad you were there. I’ve been looking for a sculptor for a while with your eye for wildness.”

One servant entered with plates of food, followed by another with a bottle of wine. “Vitello Alla Marsala with a Brachetto vintage,” said Valerius. “Thank you, Gaius, and Cornelia.” 

Cornelia looked curiously at you as she poured your wine. It was quite possible that you’d waited on her in a restaurant at some point in the recent past. “This all looks delicious,” you said. “You’re interested in a sculpture of animals?”

“Yes.” Valerius paused to chew a forkful of meat, and you took the opportunity to investigate your own plate. “A ram and a goat,” he continued. “Fighting.”

A gold pin in the shape of a ram’s head glinted on his chest. “I imagine the ram will be winning?”

He flashed a small smile. “You’re astute. Yes.” He looked down at his own hands. “The ram should be winning. But it isn’t an easy thing. They’re both in pain.”

“Why are they fighting?” Social skills were not your strong suit, but even you could tell that this was  _ about  _ something. Probably something he wasn’t going to tell you. You picked up your wine glass, imitating the way he gripped his, and took a sip. The bitterness wasn’t as bad as you’d feared. You usually didn’t drink.

“Because they can’t stop without letting the other win. I want it to be violent. Can you do that?”

“Yes. I can do violence.” Visions of the shine of denuded tender muscle and flesh, rendered in hard marble, flashed through your head. This would be an interesting challenge.

“I know rams and goats normally fight with their horns, but they’re tearing at each other with their teeth, trying to trample the other beneath their hooves. Real, but unnatural.” Valerius put a hand through his hair and his braid came undone all at once, hair spilling over both shoulders. 

He looked down at his hands when he realized what he’d done. “Pardon me,” he said. “I promise I’m usually more put-together than this.”

“Your honesty makes it easier for me to deliver what you want,” you said, and looked down into your half-full glass of wine, and then up at him, at the smooth transition from black to blonde in his hair and his champagne-pale eyes. You decided that it was probably the alcohol that made you say it. “Would it be unprofessional of me to say that you have gorgeous hair?”

A flush appeared high on his cheeks. “And you take me apart further.”

“Do you mind very much?”

“Not if you don’t mind what you see.”

You didn’t.

\--

You spent most of the next day looking at livestock. 

Valerius kept only a few goats, for weed control, but his neighbor had a huge flock of sheep, and it was a simple matter to vault over the fence. The sheep fled to the opposite end of the pasture when you arrived, but you found an excrement-free patch of grass and sat down to wait. After twenty minutes or so they seemed to forget you were there and wandered closer.

You couldn’t imagine one trying to kill anything. Their backs were round with thick wool, their faces plain and triangular, their ears soft and floppy. The lines of muscle on a goat’s back were much more defined. While the ram sunk its teeth into the goat’s back, the goat could reach only wool. 

After you were done memorizing the texture of wool and the facial expressions of sheep, the goatherd working on Valerius’ estate coaxed a goat to the side of the pen and held its mouth open for you to sketch its teeth and tongue. 

The goat’s eyes were far more expressive than the sheep’s had been, unsettling square pupils, and the ears were more alert than the sheep’s had been. You could carve those features into panic, yes. 

You explained some of these things to Valerius when he invited you into his sitting room for afternoon tea. He had asked if you might show him some of your sketches, and so you’d moved to sit next to him on the loveseat. He leaned over to look at the sketchbook in your lap, and your voice stopped mid-sentence when the orange-blossom fragrance of his hair surrounded you.

“Yes?” he said when the silence stretched on more than a few seconds.

“Oh. Uh. Yes.” You pointed to a sketch of a sheep caught in the middle of chewing. “Their lower jaw moves in a circular motion as they chew. That moment of misalignment… might be interesting to show.”

\--

Over the next few weeks you became, you supposed, his lover. The servants got used to setting a place for you at breakfast and you’d identified which chair in his sitting room got the best light for drawing. He had told you upfront that he expected to work closely with his sculptor, but probably not to this degree. 

Now you were leaning against an armrest of the settee, your sketchbook in your lap and your legs across Valerius’. He had a stack of letters resting on your calves and would read one, sigh loudly, and then throw it onto the coffee table.

You looked up from sketching - not his project, but the way the light reflected off the mirror by the door - to watch him massage his temples as he read. “Why do so many people write to you?”

He threw the letter down and looked at you. “They think I can help them.”

“Can you?”

“Rarely. Most often the people with the wherewithal to write are not the people whose problems are the most dire. This woman is complaining that Prakra has levied a slight tariff on her shellfish exports. What am I supposed to do about that? Why does it matter?”

You shrugged. “You’re the politician, not me.”

\--

You lay nude between Valerius’ silk sheets and watched the candlelight flicker on his skin as he undressed: first he unpinned the golden ram and laid it carefully on his vanity, then folded his dark shawl, undid the gold clasps on his tunic one by one, shrugged it off his shoulders, and unbuttoned the stiff-collared shirt underneath.

“You wear so many clothes,” you said. 

“Becoming myself in the morning is an elaborate game of dress-up.” Now Valerius had reached your favorite part of his undressing, now he undid the ribbon at the end of his braid and carded his fingers through his hair until it fell loose and wavy around his naked shoulders. 

“So if you dress up every morning to become yourself, what are you now?” you said.

His eyes met yours. “I don’t know.” Then he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Braid my hair for me?”

“Of course.” 

He moved until he was sitting cross-legged between your spread thighs with his back to your chest, and you combed your fingers through his hair, enjoying the texture of it. Then you leaned over to pick up the comb off the nightstand and pulled it gently through the wavy remains of the braid he’d just taken out. 

“Why do you ask me to braid your hair?” you said softly. “It’s never as neat as when you do it, and you know you’re going to have to redo it in the morning.”

Valerius was silent for a moment, and you separated his hair into three even sections and laid them out across his back. “I like how it feels when you touch me,” he said finally.

“Oh.” You laid your hand against his bare back, warm under your palm. “I like touching you.”

“How convenient,” he said, and then twisted around to kiss you, deep and gentle. “And lucky for me.”

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and then finished braiding his hair in silence.

“Can I make one more request of you?”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to… bruise me. Here.” He lifted his hand and pressed his knuckle to the skin just above his collarbone. “Mark me with your teeth.”

“Alright.” You pressed him down into his pillows, straddled his hips, and kissed from his lips down his neck to the place he had indicated. His breath quickened. Then you took the skin between your teeth and sucked until a purple-red mark appeared on his pale skin. 

Valerius gasped and raked his nails across your naked back. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t an imposition.” You pressed your hips down onto him suggestively, and he pulled you close, kissed your neck, and slid one hand between your thighs.

That night, with Valerius still sticky on your inner thighs, you dreamed. You dreamed at first that you were back in your studio, the concrete floor and rough wooden table, huge tarp-covered blocks of marble. 

And it was snowing. You could see white flakes buffeted back and forth in the blackness outside the front window - where was the street outside? where was the noise of your neighbors? - and the air was chilly enough to raise goosebumps on your arm.

You went to the coat closet, found a wool sweater, and pulled it on. No sense being cold, even in a dream. 

A scraping sound drew your eye to the door. The deadbolt was sliding, of its own accord, backwards into the unlocked position. Then the door swung open, and there was a swirl of snow, and black hooves beneath white fur clomped onto the floor.

“Good evening.” Your visitor was a humanoid goat, seven feet tall counting the horns twisting up from his forehead. 

“Would you mind closing the door behind you? If too much snow snow melts on the floor I’ll have to mop.”

The goat man stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Nirva,” he said. “I’ve been  _ so _ looking forward to meeting you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, I suppose. And you are?”

His face was long and triangular like a goat’s, but his smile stretched too far up his cheeks to be a real goat mouth, and the eyes were all wrong, too, crimson with round pupils. “Think of me as… a possible patron.”

“I’m not taking commissions right now, but I can point you to some other sculptors if you’re interested.”

“Oh, I can offer you far more than  _ he  _ ever could, and I want something only you can give.”

“Do you mean Consul Valerius?” you said pleasantly.

“Yes. You love him, but he’d never marry a starving artist like you.” 

Firstly, you didn’t know whether or not you  _ loved  _ Valerius, and you didn’t appreciate this stranger presuming. You’d known him for, like, a month. 

“I could make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. I could give you a palace and an estate, and Valerius would be proud to call you his partner. You’d be the envy of every other aristocrat in Vesuvia.”

“I’m not interested.”

His eyes flashed, and he put his hand to his chin. His fingers were too long, you noticed. “Why not?”

“If Valerius judges me based on how much money I have, I don’t want him anyway.”

“Ah. You’re a clever one, aren’t you? And very dedicated to your work.” He gestured at the studio around you.

In your mind’s eye, a million figures lay curled up inside every piece of raw marble, superimposed upon one another, all fighting to be released. With your chisel and hammer you brought one of infinite possibilities into the reality other people could see. Yes, you were dedicated to your work. This was the love of your life.

“I can make people appreciate your genius. I can make you the most famous sculptor in the world, have kings and queens fighting for the privilege to purchase whatever you choose to bring to life.”

“That wouldn’t make me any happier.” As a general rule you didn’t like talking to people very much, and Valerius was a rare exception. 

“You’re lying. Everyone wants fame.”

“Nope,” you said simply. “Not me.” And the goat-man’s scoff was the last thing you heard before the dream melted away and you were back in Valerius’ bed. 

Valerius was fast asleep, snoring gently, but his hand was curled gently around your arm. In the low light you could only faintly see the mark you’d left earlier on his neck. 

Maybe he would like you more if you were richer, more famous, but then again maybe not. And he liked you well enough as you were now to invite you into his bed and draw closer to you even in sleep. And that was enough.

\--

The next day you spent at your studio, sorting through sketches of Valerius’ statue to make the final plan. Valerius had business at court all day, and so you were surprised to see him when he knocked at your door late in the evening. 

“Can I come in?” The bags under his eyes were pronounced, and a few strands of hair had escaped from his braid. In short, he was as disheveled as you’d ever seen him in public. 

“Of course,” you said, and touched his shoulder as he passed you. He flinched at your touch, and you withdrew your hand quickly, but he caught it and held it to his chest. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough day. I’m so happy to see you. Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, and he put his arms around your shoulders and kissed you. His lips tasted like smoke.

“What happened to you?” You guided him to a comfortable chair by the fire and sat down next to him.

“The results of some of my bad decisions.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for letting me in. I can leave if you want, I know you’re probably working…”

“I was just about to turn in for the night. I don’t have silk sheets, but you’re welcome to sleep here if you want.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.” He’d welcomed you so easily into his home; why would he think you’d hesitate to return the favor? “Have you eaten dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything you need? Water?”

“Do you have wine?”

“I don’t, sorry.”

Valerius smiled for the first time this evening. “How can anyone not have wine? I’ll have to fix that sometime.”

“Will you drink water in the meantime?”

“If you insist.”

You left him to fetch a glass of water, and realized that he’d never been to your studio before. How did he know where it was? Your business card? How did he  _ get  _ here? 

When you returned to him, Valerius looked up at you as if you were the only thing in the world. You pressed the glass of water into his fingers and watched him drink. “Thank you,” he said.

Your studio had a kitchen and a tiny sitting area, and two doors. You led him through one of them into your bedroom. “The bathroom is through that other door. Wake me up if you need anything.”

“Thank you. You’re being so kind to me.”

“I care about you.”

Valerius let out a choked half-sob and his fingers tightened around yours. You sat him on the edge of your bed and leaned over him, delicately unhooking the ram’s-head pin and setting it on your bedside table. Then you unwound his scarf and undid each of the buttons on his robe. His breath caught when you made to remove his shirt, and your fingers paused.

“You’ll find out eventually,” he said, and pulled his collar open. 

The bruise you’d left the night before was gone. In its place a symbol like a compass, a four-pointed star in a circle, burned bright white. 

Valerius buried his face in his hands. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“What for? What is this?” You sat down next to him.

He laid down on your bed and pulled the blankets around him. “Three years ago, when the Countess was still in her coma, I made a deal with the Devil. This is his reminder of what I owe.”

“The Devil? A white goat with black horns? Not very nice?”

“You’ve  _ met  _ him?”

“Last night. He was in my dream.”

“You didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t make a deal with him.”

“Thank God. If only I was as prudent as you are. But I was desperate, back then. I was running the city, basically by myself. The other courtiers were certainly no help. And the Devil approached me. Offered to make things easier for me. And I agreed. In return he wanted - he wanted me to help him.”

“Help him do what?”

Valerius shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure. I’m not a magician. But the night of the masquerade, the night Lucio died, he wanted me to go to a specific room at a specific time and sit in a specific chair. And I did. But whatever spell the Devil wanted to perform didn’t work. And yesterday he approached me again. He wants to make another deal.”

“What did he offer you?”

“He offered to... get rid of Nadia and make me the Count.”

“Why would you want that?”

Valerius blinked. “What?”

“You just said that running the city was so miserable you had to turn to the Devil for help, and I’ve never heard you say anything good about your current job. Wouldn’t being Count just be like being Consul, but moreso? More letters to read and answer? More people expecting you to solve your problems?”

“But. Power. Isn’t it always better to have more power?”

“What about it would make you happier? What do you want, genuinely want, that you don’t already have?”

His eyes glistened. “Nothing that being Count could give me. Nadia is a good Countess, anyway. Better than I’d be.”

“So just don’t take the deal.”

“It’s not just the Devil. When I went to his realm tonight, the other courtiers were there too. Vlastomil and the others. They were all pressuring me to accept his deal. I don’t know why they care, but I’m scared of what they might do to me if I refuse.”

“What  _ could  _ they do to you? They all work for Nadia, just like you, and I think you’re more competent than them.”

“At governing, certainly. They have their own skills.”

“If Nadia fires you, you can come live here with me and help me pick out marble.”

“Really? You’d still spend time with me if I didn’t have the money to spoil you?”

You laughed. “Valerius, did you think you were just my sugar daddy this whole time?”

“You aren’t  _ just  _ anything,” he said. “Can I kiss you?” The hesitation in his voice was profoundly odd, given how many times you’d kissed before, the times he’d been inside you.

“Of course,” you said, and he kissed you, more chastely than usual, just his lips on yours, his face warm and close. “So what will you tell the Devil the next time you see him?”

“I’m going to tell him, and all the other courtiers,  _ no.  _ Nothing the Devil can offer is worth my cooperation.”

You kiss him again. “I’m proud of you.”

When you were curled up in bed together, half-asleep, Valerius whispered into your shoulder. “What kind of deal did the Devil offer you?”

“He couldn’t come up with anything I really wanted, and I didn’t get to hear what he wanted in return.”

“What did he think you wanted?”

_ You,  _ you thought. “Money. Fame. He really thought I wanted to be the most famous sculptor in the world.”

“I may be biased, but you’re already the best.”

“Thank you. I know.”

Valerius yawned. “Yes, you’re the best,” he murmured, and then said no more.

\--

Whenever you slept in Valerius’ bed, you woke up well before he did. His sheets were too soft, the dawn coming through his huge windows in his bedroom too light. But this morning you awoke to find him already gone. 

He’d left a note in pencil on a piece of scrap paper on your desk.  _ Thank you for last night. I need to talk to the courtiers and the Devil before I lose my nerve. Valerius. _

And then he’d drawn a heart. You picked up the pencil and started drawing underneath where he’d written. A pair of familiar eyes with heavy eyebrows and light irises, their expression soft and loving.

You shifted the papers around until Valerius’ heart was covered by sketches of goats and rams. Then you picked up your chisel and circled the block of marble you’d selected like a fencing partner, searching for a way in. 

Shortly after lunch there was a knock on the door, and you opened it to find one of Valerius’ servants on the doorstop. “Good afternoon. Consul Valerius invites you to his manor for tea this afternoon,” he said, gesturing to the carriage behind him.

“Right now?”

“If you’re available.”

“Sure. Thanks, Gaius.”

He nodded and you followed him up into the carriage.

Valerius was slumped in a chair in his sitting room in front of an untouched tray of food when you arrived. “I’m sorry I left without waking you,” he said. “I was… scared. But I told them. I told Valdemar and they summoned the Devil and he threatened me and then they both threatened me, but I told them what you’d said. And the Devil remembered you and told Valdemar that you were impossible.”

“I’m proud of you. I think you did the right thing. For Vesuvia, and for yourself.”

“Thank you. Can you… can I have a hug?”

“Sure.” You leaned down to wrap your arms around him and he pressed his face into his shoulder for a long moment before releasing you.

“Sit down,” he said finally. “Have a sandwich or something. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“It wasn’t any trouble.” You studied his face and sorted through your somewhat limited repertoire of social skills. “Do you want to talk more about what happened?”

“They’re terrifying. Valdemar, I mean. You’d expect the Devil to be monstrous, but I thought Valdemar was human. They told me I was nothing. They told me they’d vivisect me if I didn’t agree. The Devil had to tell them to stop.”

“Valdemar would be stupid to hurt you. The countess would have them tried and executed for it.”

“That wouldn’t be much good to me if I was already dead.”

“No, but from what you’ve said I think they’re rational enough that the thought would deter them.”

“Do you always have to be so clever all the time?” said Valerius, but he was smiling. “Is there anything you’re afraid of?”

“I’m afraid of pain,” you said flatly. “I don’t want to die horribly. But the idea of safety is an illusion. Anyone could stab me in the street at any time, and whatever happened next I’d already be dead. The only thing keeping us alive is the goodness and rationality of other people, and we’ve made it this far, so other people must be pretty good and rational.”

“You make a compelling point.” 

You shrugged, and sat in silence for a while. The best way to deal with inconvenient thoughts was to reason your way out of them. “Wait,” you said. “You told the Devil about me?”

“Yes. I told him that you’d convinced me.”

“You told him you were backing out on the advice of your  _ sculptor? _ ”

“No, I told them that my  _ partner  _ made me see sense!” Valerius put his plate down on the coffee table. “Is that not what this is? Are we not dating?”

“I didn’t think so! Aristocrats like you don’t  _ date  _ random poor people.”

“If I’ve ever said or done anything to lead you to believe that there’s anything  _ random  _ about you, I deeply apologize.” He took your hand and held it to his chest. “You’re the finest luxury this city has to offer.”

“A luxury? Am I just another bottle of wine to collect and consume?”

“No. No, you’re not. I’m sorry, Nirva.” He dropped your hand and moved away from you. “What do you want from me? I’d be proud to have you join me in court, but I’ve never gotten the impression you’d enjoy that.”

“I don’t want to be at court. I like what we have now. I like being close to you and I like having our separate lives. But if I mean something to you, I want you to tell me.”

“I think about you when I wake up in the morning and when I go to sleep at night. I could watch you draw for hours. You’re my favorite person to talk to and your advice is the best I can get anywhere. I’m yours, Nirva.”

You opened your arms and he let you wrap your arms around him, pressed his cheek to your chest. “I love you, Valerius,” you said.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading folks! i had planned to include a sex scene but unfortunately nirva turned out to be less kinky than i am


End file.
